Of Oneshots and Magic
by Chasing Uncertainties
Summary: A set of unconnected oneshots written for Fire the Canon's Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition as a member of the Chudley Cannons.
1. Jealous

**Title: **Jealous  
**Rating: **K+ (for now)  
**Word count this chapter: **2,248 (not including A/Ns)  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter.  
**Warnings: **Slash, Bi!Harry, slight AU  
**Summary this chapter: **What would have changed about Harry, had he met a certain person at the young, open-minded age of seven?  
**A/N: **This is the first installment of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition! Basically, a whole load of people signed up for a team and position. Once all the spots were filled, the judges created the first challenge. There is a different writing challenge for each team member, and each week you compete with a different team. It should be really fun, and the fact that I'm writing for a competition won't affect the story itself in any way. Basically every other week, a chapter will be added to this story. It will be a series of unconnected oneshots. Enjoy and please comment! It's my first time writing slash. (P.S- Go Cannons!)

**Team: **Chudley Cannons  
**Position: **Beater 2  
**Pairing: **Harry x Ron (romantic pairing)  
**Optional Prompts Used: **-_Song; Jealousy by Will Young- -Quote; 'Sometimes your life boils down to one insane move.' -Avatar-._

* * *

Harry Potter, growing up, was the 'different' boy. He was the one with skinny legs, the kind of skinny you found on spindly chairs. His knees knocked together. His cheekbones jutted out. His clothes were too large (but that was his aunt and uncle's fault). His round glasses were taped together like the nerds on television, the ones that got their lunch money taken and their heads shoved into toilets when trying to use the loo. He slept in a _cupboard. _

He was the odd one out for many reasons, but above all, it was his scar. His lightning-shaped scar that was near impossible to hide completely. But even if he managed to conceal said scar, maybe with gel, his hair would spring back up anyway. Unruly. All the kids knew about it anyway.

There were other strange things about Harry Potter too. Like how, when Dudley was chasing him, he'd appear on the school roof. Everyone thought Harry was too weird for his own good. No one suspected an act of real magic.

Your average person had many valid reasons to think of Harry Potter as an oddball. But there was one ultimate reason that ensured everyone's aversion to Harry; that was Dudley's gang. Or specifically, cousin Dudley himself. No one wanted to argue with Dudley's gang. At age seven, Dudley could knock out anyone his age. Nobody was mad enough to take _that _risk, even if they did feel bad for the sickly skinny boy with the strange scar and the large glasses.

So, there you have it. Nobody stood up for him.

Except for one person.

Dudley didn't even notice; but Dudley was never the most perceptive, was he?

* * *

Harry wasn't really the type to talk to people, or make friends, at school. He read library books and sometimes smuggled Dudley's comics out of his room when the dunce was busy eating, bullying children with his friends, or watching TV. Once Dudley caught him with his favourite _Amazing Spiderman _comic book and Harry walked away with a throbbing cheek.

No, boys didn't stick up for Harry. There was only one, and his name was Benjamin Harris. 'Bennie', the kids at school called him.

Bennie was inquisitive about Harry's books, about his life. He wanted to know more about the boy under the cupboard, about his adventure books, who his favourite superheroes were. He was nice to everybody, so no one could really be properly mean to him; except the evil Dudley, of course. Bennie didn't take insults though. That was the thing. That was why Harry was jealous of him, or maybe admired him a little.

With Bennie around, Harry felt safer. He felt like he couldn't be hurt by Dudley's gang. But at the same time, he felt confused. No one had ever taken a liking to him before. There had to be an ulterior motive. There had to be something up with Bennie. There wasn't any other reason for him to be so friendly.

It made Harry feel a bit sad, because he was only seven and he couldn't trust anyone. Not even the one boy who promised to be his friend and help him become a superhero one day.

One day, Harry was hiding in the library. Dudley was in a particularly foul mood after having his computer privileges taken away, and had decided to take things out on his cousin. There wasn't really a better target. He was sitting, nestled behind an awfully uncomfortable bookshelf. It bothered him, but it didn't bother him more than having to outrun his cousin. The library was quiet. But Harry should have known his peace wouldn't last long.

"'Arry," A voice called softly. It's was Bennie's easily distinguishable Lancashire accent, drifting through the library. "'Arry, you weren't outside, so I came looking." Bennie sat cross-legged beside him, flicking red hair out of his face.

Harry smile ruefully. "You heard about my cousin? How my aunt and uncle took his computer time away?"

"Yis," Nodded Bennie.

"He's in a right foul mood and he's taking out on me." Harry looked around secretively, as though Dudley might creep up on him and pounce.

"Brilliant!" Bennie's eyes lit up. "We're like spies, 'Arry! From your books! Hiding from the bad guys!" Beaming, he shuffled closer. "Don't worry. Dudley's not laying a finger on _you! _You're the most valuable spy of the lot!"

"Why?" Frowned Harry, keeping his voice down.

"Cause you're small, like," Said Bennie, holding his fingers close together to prove a point. "And you've got a cool scar."

"You're small, too," Laughed Harry before frowning and bursting out, "Why are you so nice to me, Bennie? No one else is!"

Bennie frowned. "I like you. Isn't that allowed?"

"No," replied the green-eyed boy, pouting. "It's just that it's unusual, and you've got no reason to. I don't get it! Why don't you go play with the normal people?"

Bennie's brow furrowed. And then suddenly, he leaned over and pressed his soft child's lips right onto Harry's cheek, fleetingly, hastily. "Because I just do. I don't want to play with the normal people." The bell went, and his cheeks flushed red. "I'll see you around, 'Arry."

He didn't know why, but his cheek was still tingling and he could still hear his name on Bennie's lips.

* * *

For a few days, it was slightly uncomfortable. Harry thought kissing was for boys and girls. Why did Bennie kiss him?

He missed not having a friend, though.

"Bennie," He asked tentatively one day. "You never told me who _your _favourite superhero was."

Bennie looked up, disregarding the question. "I'm moving away, 'Arry. Back to Lancashire."

Many emotions went through Harry at once, far too many for a seven year-old. "Why?"

"We 'ave family there. Stupid family. I've got you as my friend, that's all I need."

"Oh," Harry mumbled, the thought of his only friend leaving unbearable.

* * *

On the day Bennie left, he met Harry behind the school, gave him a hug and an action figure. "Have fun in Lancashire," Said Harry, "With your family."

"You were a good friend, 'Arry. I'll miss you," Said Bennie. And with that, he leaned right over, and gave him a kiss straight on the mouth.

The kiss was far too quick for anything other than shock to register. So that was his only emotion until Bennie ran away, calling, "See you later, 'Arry!"

Harry didn't see Bennie again, but he always hoped he might.

* * *

He tried to forget about Bennie. For the years following, those two kisses were his deepest secret. But every day, he felt his life get darker and darker as Dudley laughed at him over and over again. He thought about Bennie growing up with some other boy or girl. It made him jealous to the point where some nights, a tear would escape his eye. Other times, when the days were particularly hard, jealousy suffocated him to the point where he almost couldn't breathe.

Life was too dark for such a young boy, but finding out he was a wizard; that became Harry's light.

Still, that fateful night when Hagrid showed up, Harry kept thinking how Bennie would have loved to hear he was a wizard.

* * *

The first thing Harry noticed about Ronald Weasley was his bright red hair.

Ron couldn't seem to fathom why Harry would take such an interest to him. There were so many other kids around, ones who weren't poor and didn't have five brothers to live up to. Still, he didn't mind the attention. It wasn't as though he'd ever gotten much of it in his life.

Ron reminded Harry of Bennie in many more ways than one. He was interested to hear about Harry's life. He talked, awestruck, about heroes of the wizarding world; one of which was Harry himself, as he found out. Harry liked Ron lots. He drew so many parallels to his lost childhood friend.

When Harry got sorted into Gryffindor, he thought Bennie would have been a Gryffindor too. He was brave to move away. He was brave to kiss a boy. But he tried to forget about Bennie. Hogwarts was a new part of his life. He was leaving the past behind.

Classes were hard. But they made Harry happy; while Dudley was in Maths, he was learning how to transform objects. While Uncle Vernon was at work, he was practising Charms. He found it funny when Ron made mistakes in class; but Ron thought the whole thing was comical too so it was alright to laugh. Harry figured Bennie would be the same way… every day was a struggle to forget about the past and focus on the future.

Harry was happy to become friends with Hermione. She brought with her homework help, a girl's opinion, a fiercely loyal friendship and sarcastic comments to last a lifetime.

The end of year one brought fear and excitement into Harry's life. Facing Voldemort with his two best friends, and then all alone, made him stronger than he ever imagined. It made him love his friends more than he thought it could. In the summer everything from Harry's muggle life came flooding back. He would watch television over Dudley's shoulder until Aunt Petunia gave him a light rap on the head, reminding him to get back to his chores. He would stare at the ceiling or out the window. He endured taunts from Dudley and his gang, remembering when Bennie was there to stick up for him. Aside from a strange encounter with a house-elf and visiting the Burrow, his life was back to 'normal'.

Second year brought more frightening adventures. Harry grew to (platonically) like Ginny, Ron's little sister, and her bright red hair, after that year.

In third year Harry learned about a long-lost family member; his godfather, who, albeit being on the run, would give him the reassurance of having a trusted adult.

It wasn't until fourth year, however, that Harry realised something. The boys around him were starting to take an interest in girls. Ron often stared enviously at Hermione, bent over her work, and was furious about Krum. Dean Thomas seemed almost sweet on Parvati and Seamus Finnigan was always staring at Lavender. Sometimes Harry caught himself gazing at Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw girl, but he never properly thought about _dating _her.

But no matter what, his thoughts always went back to Bennie and the two secret kisses that had been placed on Harry's cheek, then lips. And no matter how much Harry tried to think about girls - like all his friends did – all that came to mind was how Ron and Bennie were so much alike.

Fifth year brought a change in character to Harry. He had seen his classmate die. He'd been part of a direct Dementor attack. He was different. Angry sometimes, or resentful.

When Cho Chang kissed Harry under the mistletoe, wet eyes and all, nothing stirred inside of him. He'd been kissed before, by a different type of person, and it felt different.

A whole year later, Harry watched Ron with Lavender and experienced something completely familiar. He felt a suffocating jealousy, a jealousy to the point where it took all he had not to throw and break something. He realised, one night in his room, that he was jealous of what Lavender had, not of what Ron had. He cared about Ron in the same way he cared about Bennie.

Harry was sure this wasn't something superficial. This was not his brain missing his childhood friend. There were many things he'd come to appreciate about Ron; the way he procrastinated, got nervous before Quidditch matches, and swore frequently.

So when everything hit Harry, like bricks dropping down on his head, he knew he had to do _something. _He thought about what Bennie would have done, because he always admired Bennie.

That was a simple answer. Bennie would have let Ron know exactly how he felt. Insane, yes. But maybe necessary.

One night, Ron was complaining about Lavender and the copious amounts of Sixth-Year homework. Harry was watching, pondering what he should do. If he should explain to Ron exactly how he felt, or keep quiet.

But he was convinced that sometimes the wild decisions were the better ones. That sometimes, your life boils down to one insane move.

And so, alone in the Gryffindor common room, Harry leaned over and briefly kissed Ron, smack on his lips, before promptly getting up and retreating to his dormitory.

(Because he really couldn't bear to find out Ron's reaction.)

* * *

Harry expected Ron to say nothing if he didn't feel '_that way' _about him. He expected him to tell him if he did.

He guessed right; Ron made no mention of The Kiss to Harry. Shortly after, he broke things off with Lavender.

Hermione would feel tension between them for the weeks to come but never once said anything besides 'are you two fighting?'

He wasn't completely sure why he began to date Ginny. Perhaps to make himself forget about all past feelings he'd had for other boys, or because she reminded him of Ron.

* * *

Ron and Hermione married, as did Harry and Ginny. It was almost to be expected.

Some nights, Harry still felt that jealousy pressing down on him; that jealousy for what Hermione had.

And he never, ever forgot about a seven year-old muggle redhead who changed his perspective on life.


	2. Weakness

**Title: **Weakness  
**Rating: **K+ (some language)  
**Word count this chapter: **1,690 (not including A/Ns)  
**Warnings: **Angst, some cussing  
**Summary this chapter: **After being awoken by the real world, Rose and Scorpius have a conversation. In which Rose longs for yesterday, becomes confused and Scorpius sees right through her!  
**A/N: **I'm sorry if this seems at all a bit confusing, but it's supposed to be; Rose feels confused throughout this oneshot and I was trying to capture that. Anyway, hope you enjoy this, it's angsty, but should be fun :). Please **review!**

Beater 2_  
_**Characters**: Rose Weasley, Scorpius Malfoy (NextGen)  
**Optional Prompts used: **_-weakness- -pretence- __-notebook-  
_**Song Lyrics: **Yesterday by The Beatles -_Yesterday love was such an easy game to play/ Now I need a place to hide away_/ _Oh, I believe in yesterday-_

* * *

Pretence: noun _[a false display/ the act of pretending]_

"_I love Kate. I really do."_

"_I understand, Scorp."_

"_Bye, then."_

"_See you."_

Rose is hunched over her notebook. The ink is blotting the page; so much, in fact, that it's seeping through to other pages. Other, untouched bits of parchment are now being damaged. She was going to write something, a small caption, but obviously that isn't going to happen. It was supposed to be something along the lines of _'with Cousin Al and Scorpius Malfoy, my childhood friend'. _It was supposed to be easy to write.

It wasn't easy to write at all. Because Scorpius was _much _more than just a childhood friend. How could she write '_my childhood friend' _when she had been ready to marry him?

Rose goes to close the notebook but then can't. Though the corner of the photo is stained by ink, it's still perfect. Her, Al and Scorpius are waving merrily at the camera. Her right hand is waving, but the left is clasping Scorp's. They all look happy and young. That was only a year ago. _I was such a naïve seventeen year-old. _

She keeps staring and staring at the notebook – the notebook she hopes to transform into a scrapbook – but at Scorpius's face specifically. The way his chin is all pointy and his mouth is small and his blonde hair keeps getting in his face, so he has to flick it out every few seconds. The way his grey eyes dance in the sun and his red and gold tie is loose. It's all perfect.

They were perfect, she figures; so why did he have to leave?

Rose knows the answer to _that _question.

"_It's too hard," _he'd said, after weeks of screw-ups and fights with both each other and their parents. After weeks of burned food and no groceries and little other than each other to keep them warm at night. It was too hard for many reasons. "_We need to get jobs,"_ he sighed every day.

"_As soon as term is over," _Rose would reply. "_When we're done school it'll get better."_

They both received top marks in their N.E.W.T's, got into schools to study their professions of choice. But schooling is expensive, as is everything, Rose realised quickly.

It was too hard.

"_We're teenage lover material, Rose. But we're not teenagers anymore."_

As much as it hurt, Rose agreed with Scorpius completely, and still does. And as hard as it was to accept, she knew – and still knows – that he's right.

It's good that he left. She can focus on her schooling, her part-time job at Flourish and Blott's. She can spend time with her family and she can babysit her niece Amélie (if only Vic knew how jealous she is). There are still hard parts. She and Scorpius calmly discussed the fact that he would remain friends with Albus. Rose understands that, too; he can't be kept away from his best friend.

All too many emotions flood through her head as she thinks about the time when love was easy, about how these days she could crawl into a hole and never come out, about how everything was happier before. When she had not a care in the world.

Rose is thinking about yesterday and the day before that and the day before that when there's a knock on her door.

Naturally, she's surprised to see Scorpius Malfoy standing there.

At first, Rose wants to believe he's taken her back. That can't happen though, can it? He's just begun dating somebody else.

"…Scorp? Am I going mad?"

Scorpius's face breaks into his familiar smile and he beams, though he looks about ready to cry. "No, you're not going mad. Though that sounds exactly like something you'd say."

"You can come in," Rose says tentatively, fetching him the tea that she had initially made for herself.

There's an awkward moment's pause as Scorpius sips his tea. "You don't understand why I left," he begins, sitting on her old couch. "You think I preferred Kate to you-"

"I know why you left."

"No," Scorpius protests.

"Well, you're getting straight to the point, aren't you?" Rose rolls her eyes, sitting down beside him. "No 'how are you doing' or 'is your niece cute' or-"

"How are you doing, Rose?"

"You were right. Life is easier now. Not quite the same, but easier," she says simply. "And I understand. I don't really know who Kate is, other than that she was some Ravenclaw – you guys got to know each other, fine – but life was tough. You're right. You and me, we're school material. Not meant to have a life outside of that. I agree with you completely. The question is; why are you here?"

He pauses, taking it all in. It crosses his mind that he's not going to be able to stall by making small talk. Rose never was one for small talk. "I came to make amends," Scorpius replies eventually. "I left early in the morning with nothing but a note and yesterday's arguments; I didn't even like Kate. I needed somewhere to go. When I saw you in Diagon Alley...I gave you a terrible explanation. That's why I came."

"You love Kate now, though," says Rose stoically, trying not to show any emotion. "You told me you do."

He wrinkles his nose. "Do I love Kate? Primarily, I needed somewhere to stay, like I said, but I wasn't _using _her. She's boring – nothing at all like you -" he smiles ruefully – "But I care about her. I don't know. I couldn't stay here, with us fighting and having little to no money and-"

"-I know. But I'm fine." Rose struggles to put a smile on her face. "I'm making a scrapbook out of that notebook there." She points to the coffee table. "It's like, a sort of reminder of my life during Hogwarts. So I don't forget you and Amity and Caitir and Marvin and everyone."

Scorpius stares at her false smile and empty words and how she's accepted his actions. "But you don't get it. I need to talk to you because-"

"I'm fine, you know. I'm getting to be happy. I'm tired, sure, but-"

"Who the fuck do you think I am, Rose?" Scorpius bursts out angrily, feeling the corners of his eyes begin to sting with tears. He forces them back. "I've known you since we were eleven. I dated you. I liked you for years. I _know _you. This pretence – this façade you've put up, this false display that you think fools me, none of it does. Why else would I come back here? I wouldn't come at all if I didn't think you were OK. Kate has no idea I'm here-" Rose raises an eyebrow – "But does that matter? You act like you think I couldn't give a damn. I _do_." He leans toward her desperately. "Neither of us have got our life sorted! We fight terribly! We – I don't know where I'm going with this, but… I can't be without you, you know. Tell me you'll be my friend."

Rose can feel her lip trembling. "You accuse me of putting up a façade. But you're with a girl you don't love. You still love _me _– and if not, you have some inkling of a crush left over – I'm not saying it out of vanity. I know you, too. We're both acting strong, aren't we? But we're not."

He gives a smile, albeit a small one. "You understand why we fought, right? We were upset, just not at each other. Things were hard, I got confused. I was far angrier at my situation than I ever could be at you. I was mad at both my parents and yours for being narrow-minded, too."

"You're confusing me," mumbles. "Everything was simpler before now. I miss yesterday."

Scorpius chuckles. "I'm not saying we should start up again. I think it's too early for that, and it'd be unfair to you. And I don't think I'm ready for it, either. But Kate and I won't last long; not because we fight, but because there's nothing there." He stands up abruptly. "I just wanted to come to tell you that I… well, I care, and I still want to be your friend." Scorpius smiles. "I'll see you around, though."

Rose is unhappy with his words. He came and left quickly, he's acting odd, he's making excuses for leaving her. But she stands up and opens the door, more conflicted than ever. He didn't deny still liking her. He said, in subtext, that he regretted leaving to some extent. He hinted that he still wants her. "Bye, once again."

Scorpius stares at Rose, Rose stares at Scorpius. They smile weakly in perfect unison, and then on an unspoken agreement, step into a hug that seems to make up for some things. Rose sighs. "I was planning to try and be strong in front of you," she whispers. "I guess you're my weakness, Scorp."

"I don't mind that," he says, turning his head to kiss her on the cheek.

"Come on," replies Rose. "You kiss me on the cheek, you're going to have to kiss me on the lips, too."

"That's not allowed. I'm dating someone, remember?"

"You outright told me you don't love Kate properly. That you prefer me, sort of. Besides, no one's around to tell her," murmurs Rose.

Scorpius leans back and looks at her. "Someday, maybe I'll come back, or maybe you'll let me come back. I'll kiss you then."

"I guess that'll have to do."

Those are the last words she says to Scorpius before he leaves.

She doesn't close her flat door for a long time. Instead, Rose stands on the front stoop, feeling bittersweet and melancholy and a little happy.

She's also thinking that her life was much simpler yesterday.

* * *

I told you it might seem confused... it's supposed to. Anyway! Thanks for reading!


	3. For Better or Worse

**Chapter Title: **For Better or Worse  
**Word count this chapter: **1,170 (not including A/Ns)  
**Chapter summary: **George experiences the suspense of watching Fred's death, and being unable to do anything about it.

**Team: **Chudley Cannons  
**Position: **Beater 2  
**Challenge: **Write a suspense story.  
**Prompts: **none.  
**Round: **4

* * *

_[Suspense]  
Suspense is experienced when a person expects something bad to happen and has a superior perspective on the event, yet is powerless to intervene and prevent it from happening._

* * *

Fred and George Weasley were born on April the 1st.

This was a natural recipe for troublemakers. Twins, born on April Fool's, with three – more or less – perfect brothers…well, what else were they to become?

All their life, Fred and George were devoted to making up harmless, and sometimes _slightly _harmful (what could they say? Setting Bill's toque on fire was entertaining), pranks. They were funny and brave and a little reckless, and above all, _carefree_.

The fact that they were carefree made their judgment a little…while, bad. They never really understood the concept of rules and limitations and borders, which was sometimes great, and sometimes got them into a lot of trouble. Like when they drove their father's car all the way from Harry's house in Surrey to the Burrow.

Carefree. Yes. This was Fred and George.

Incredible, how they could be carefree people even when their sister was possessed by Salazar Slytherin. Incredible, how they could be carefree when a 'crazy mass murderer' was supposed to be on the loose. Incredible, how they could be carefree during their O. , incredible how they could be carefree when the terror known as Dolores Umbridge controlled the school.

Their finest moment – the time when they were the very _epitome _of carefree – came when they set off all sorts of fireworks around the school, stole their brooms, and made their dramatic exit. Everybody thought Fred and George – or _Gred _and _Forge_, as they jokingly called themselves – were rather dumb at times, albeit clever, but everybody truly admired them to some extent. Even Mrs. Weasley, though she'd never admit it.

When Fred and George found out about the continuation of Dumbledore's Army in 1998, and the secret passage that ran through the Hog's Head into the Room of Requirement, they would 'pop over' and record _Potterwatch _broadcasts with their old friend Lee Jordan. They would check on their younger friends. Occasionally, they set off fireworks in Professor Snivellus Snape's office or defaced the school walls with graffiti. Everyone loved that.

Soon, they realised that they were on the brink of not war – no, they had been at war for a long time – but they were on the brink of a battle. Immediately, they decided they were going to take part in the battle. Fred and George were certainly the good guys, and they agreed they'd be honoured to fight against You-Know-Who. (Though they couldn't help joking about how corny the word 'honoured' sounded after.

Once in a while – almost never – they would talk about the impending battle, quite seriously. They wondered what sort of outcomes there would be. Who would die? Would Harry come out on top? Would he ever come _back _from hiding? Though they couldn't hold a deep conversation for more than five minutes, they did talk. They did wonder, when they were on their own. But it never crossed their minds that one of them would _die_. Fred and George were two halves of a whole, never really meant to be apart and never really complete without each other.

When the time came, Fred and George ran eagerly into the fight.

Fred was ecstatic to fight alongside Percy, who had somehow, miraculously, joined the Weasley family once more.

George would have easily traded Percy's continued betrayal for Fred's life.

Seeing his lifeless brother in the Great Hall, eyes open, vacant, gone, that made him break from the inside out. Shaking sobbing, not accepting the reality of it all, clutching his twin's cold shoulders. George Weasley was shattered, gone, broken, split in two, because was he ever really whole without his stupid bloody _brother_?

George wondered how he was going to get on from here on out, and found the answer in his mind already. He wasn't, not really.

April the 1st became a day of grief for George, not a day of happiness and celebration. It wasn't right. His twin wasn't there. How was he supposed to blow out his candles without Fred there to compete with him?

The wizard blamed his carelessness, of all things, for Fred's death.

Maybe he blamed the damned carelessness for letting Fred out of his sight.

Maybe George was upset that it had once been within his capacity to feel careless, to feel happy and weightless.

Fred's death, in the end, changed him like nothing had before; they weren't meant to be split apart. George Weasley certainly had holes, and somehow, he carried on.

He carried on but not… not quite how he had before.

See, the events of the Battle of Hogwarts on May Second, 1998, had been described to George by a choked-up Ron and Percy. George had nightmares about that evening.

It would always start the same way.

"It'll be OK, Freddie," George would grin to his brother, and they'd split ways. But the Real George, in spirit-something-or-other state, would scream silently at his Dream George counterpart for letting Fred go. And so the gut-wrenching sadness, the churning suspense would begin again.

Feeling as though he might throw up, Real George would follow Fred down a blown-apart corridor. He would float in front of his brother, trying in vain to get his attention, knowing what was about to happen but unable to intervene.

"_Fred_!" He would scream and the word would come out silent, weak, powerless.

Real George would watch as Fred and Percy were reunited, as Ron and Harry joined in

Eagerly – and oh, so eagerly it made Real George sick – Fred, Percy, Ron and Harry would fight Death Eaters like there was no tomorrow.

Which, Real George knew, there wouldn't be for Fred.

Fred would be grinning. He would be making jokes to Percy, expressing his disbelief at his brother's renewed loyalty. All for boys would be giddy with success, and Real George would be horrified, willing it all not to happen, cringing and crying and screaming out and thinking _why, why am I useless, why can't I save my own brother, why can't he anticipate what – _

_Boom_.

And then heat would lick the faces of Fred and Real George.

George, shaking and dripping with cold sweat, would then wake up.

Angelina was always there. She always held him tight, whispering reassuring things like _'I cared about Fred too. His death isn't your fault. We all lost people in the war. You're not alone, George'. _

George would then hold baby Fred and rock him back and forth. Each day, he'd go through the motions, wondering how he'd cope that night.

For better or worse, he always did cope. Some days it was almost impossible to live with the suspense; the suspense of knowing he would reminisce of Fred's death, and that he'd be unable to stop it.

Just like in real life.


	4. The Facades of Tom Riddle

**Title: **The Woefully Deceiving Facades of Tom Riddle  
**Rating: **K**Summary this chapter: **When Ginny Weasley was eleven years old, she fell in love with a diary.  
**A/N: **Thanks to Maggalina (Maggie) for filling in for me during round 4 when I was away in California!

**Team: **Chudley Cannons  
**Position: **Beater 2  
**Optional prompts used: **-dialogue: 'who is she?'- -word: 'ridiculous'-

* * *

When Ginny Weasley was eleven years old, she fell in love.

Fred, George, Ron, and even her mum and dad were wrong about who it was. They all suspected Harry Potter, the boy with the messy black hair and round glasses and unique scar and enticing green eyes. Sure, he was adorable, and Ginny sometimes wished she could be his girl. He was the only older boy who had been kind to her before; how could she _not _fancy him a little?

But no, odd as it may have been, Ginny Weasley fell in love with a diary. Or, rather, she fell in love with the previous owner of the magic diary.

He went by the name of _Tom Riddle_. He was the first person Ginny loved, and the first person Ginny hated.

_I have my own collection of rough childhood experiences, _Tom wrote to her one day in his perfect, neat scrawl. _You're not the only one who was ignored as a child, I'm afraid._

_Really? _she replied eagerly, sitting up in her dormitory bed and leaning towards the book. As if she expected to fall right through it and into his world. Ginny fingered the ink lovingly and though it faded away, tiny black splotches remained on her cream coloured fingertips, proof that Tom Riddle was real.

_No. I had to do whatever it took to get attention. Sometimes that involved stealing toys from the other children at my orphanage. Or nearly hurting them._

_I can't believe you would have to do that_, she wrote back hastily, making sure she was still alone in the dormitory. _You stand out more than anyone I've ever known. You're perfect, Tom, you really are. _

_It flatters me that you think so, _he responded politely. _I regret doing bad things to other people. You're brave and strong not to do anything to get attention. I craved it when I was younger_.

Ginny's face lit up. He thought she was brave? Just because she wasn't an attention-seeker, _Tom Riddle _thought she was brave?

_You're the best diary I've ever had, Tom, _Ginny wrote. She paused, unable to write, '_I think I might love you'_.

And then, bysome miracle, light flew out of the little black journal and a shimmery figure sat on her bed beside her. He had the hair of a black night and skin of marble and eyes of the deepest grey, and oh, she was being far too poetic, and she cursed herself for it. But this boy, this handsome black-and-white boy who had flown out of the magic diary, he had to be Tom Riddle, right?

"Er," she said in shock. "…Tom? Is that you?"

His pale lips curled towards the sky. "Yes, it's me," he responded simply, staring down at her. His voice wasn't at all how she imagined it. It was hardened, smooth, confident. Almost as if Tom Riddle was the sort of person you'd expect to be bad. The kind of person you'd be instantly afraid of. Or at least intimidated by.

All of a sudden, it made sense to Ginny that this Tom Riddle stole toys from his friends at the orphanage, that this Tom Riddle could hurt people. There was a dangerous edge to his voice, and she saw him in a different light now. But he was still her Tom.

"How?" she asked simply, gazing up at his face.

"I'm but a spirit of a boy, Ginny." Tom smiled again, gently this time. "I can do whatever I please, but this diary of ours is simply the gateway between my world and yours."

"Diary of _ours_," she repeated. "I thought it was just your diary, Tom. I got it by accident."

Tom's smile went back to the way it was before. The more dangerous sort of grin that she was afraid of. "It's yours now too, Ginny," he said, tucking a lock of carrot orange hair behind her ear. The feeling of his freezing cold fingers made her shiver.

Ungraceful, thumping feet could suddenly be heard from downstairs. "Ginny?" a voice called.

"You've got to go!" Ginny hissed at Tom, and he gave her one last grin before disappearing. She shuddered once more, feeling alive and dangerous and frightened by the power of the diary.

"Yes?" she said, getting up and walking to the stairs. Demelza Robins stood on the top step.

"I didn't want to bother you," she said, "only it's dinner, and Colin and I are going down. We thought you ought to come with us."

* * *

Tom Riddle and the diary quickly became nothing short of an obsession for Ginny. She wrote to Tom every day, and on rare occasions he showed up to talk to her. She was intimidated by him, fascinated by the power he had over her. She abandoned all thoughts of Harry Potter. The only person she cared about was Tom Riddle, and it terrified her.

"You're so good at journal-keeping. I could never write consistently like that," Hailie Stratford remarked one day. Ginny only smiled uncomfortably.

"You've gone mad over that journal," Fred and George teased; even they saw her clutching it at dinner and in the halls, as if it were her lifeline. "It's taken you over, Gin."

"Has _not_!" she said angrily, blushing in spite of herself. Though, it seemed like her brothers were right. The diary _was _taking her over.

Ginny's fears were only confirmed when she agreed to strangle the school chickens for Tom. When she agreed to write on a wall in her own blood.

Of course, she forgot about all of this right after it happened. And she went back to some sort of 'normal' state, whatever 'normal' was for Ginny now. Her need to write to Tom was unhealthy, it was sickening, and she feared it so much, that one day she snapped.

Ginny flushed her diary down the toilet.

This may have seemed to any onlooker like a perfectly childish and ridiculous thing to do – though a very efficient way of getting rid of a diary – but Ginny was desperate. Tom's power over her made her unhappy, tired, frightened. The way he said that Harry Potter was 'worthless', and 'half the person she was', made her angry.

The second Ginny did so, she felt awful. What had she just _done_? She'd erased all chances of talking with Tom and Tom, he was the only person who understood her. He was the only person who sympathised with her petty eleven year-old issues, the only one who would talk to her tirelessly for hours .

Ginny's horror increased tenfold when she saw Harry Potter, Harry Potter with the messy hair and the green eyes and the round glasses, holding the book as if it had always been his own.

Was she really to blame for breaking into his room, sorting desperately through his things and taking the book back for herself? After all, Ginny was possessed.

She would go so far as to write yet another message on the walls, and meet Tom Riddle in the Chamber of Secrets.

Tom Riddle, in all his dark, dangerous, terrifying glory, stood in the green marble hall. He was still black and white but he was healthier-looking, brighter than he was before. And Ginny was more tired, more sick. The comparison unnerved her.

He stared at her in disgust. He, who had tucked her hair behind her ear gently and lovingly mere months before. "You came."

"You sent for me," she responded bravely. Whatever Tom Riddle would tell her to do, she would face him. No matter how scary he was, no matter why she had been forced to write her own death message on the walls.

"I did send for you," he said immediately, twirling his wand. "But I do not want you particularly. I _want _someone else."

Ginny quivered. "Who do you want? And why would you send for me, if you didn't want me?"

"I need you. I don't want you at all. They're different things, Ginny, which you'd learn if you were going to live past this day." his voice took on a different tone. A mocking sort of tone, one that said, _too bad things won't go your way_.

She disregarded everything he had just said. "Why are you being cruel? You never were before. You're the kindest person I've known. Have you been possessed?"

"I'm extremely proficient in the Dark Arts, Ginny. I'm not going to go and get myself possessed, but I do know how to…do the possessing. And I do know how to flatter a stupid eleven year-old when I need to. You didn't prove much of a challenge."

Her breaths were ragged. Tom was breaking down her defenses steadily and surely, growing happier and stronger with each word he spoke. "Why?" Ginny asked. "You told me you loved me. Now you say you want someone else." she was overcome with a sickening sort of jealousy. Why didn't he care about her? Her cheeks flushed bright red with anger and defiance. "You love somebody else! Who is she?"

Laughing, Tom Riddle stepped toward her. "I don't love, Ginny. You're being ridiculous. It's me, Tom Riddle, heir to the Chamber of Secrets. I couldn't ever love anyone."

Ginny began to stutter. She never stuttered. "I'm not being ridiculous. Y-you lied. I w-was fooled, you can't-"

"And it's ridiculous that you could be fooled by a book!" he yelled viciously, patience waning. "I don't care for you, Ginny, when will you see that? Don't once tell me you're not ridiculous."

He head was spinning. Everything was crashing down around her at once, and her small eleven year-old body couldn't take it anymore. Tom did not love her. Tom did not ever love her. Tom needed her to grow stronger. Tom was _evil_.

Ginny sat down, looking up at the impending figure standing over her. His eyes, they had colour now. They were green, green like Harry's.

"I'm not ridiculous," she said. "I'm not, and you're nothing but a book."

"Ah, but you see, Ginny," he said, standing right at her feet, "I'm not nothing but a book anymore. You poured your life into me. You made me strong. You made me more than a book, and now you're worthless. Even as we speak, your power drains into me. You're ridiculous and foolish and stupid and pathetic, Ginny Weasley, but you've helped me more than you could know."

"I'm not ridiculous," she repeated, whispering. Whispering was all she had the strength to do.

"I'm going to wait now," said Tom. "And you're going to stay here until my prize arrives. You see, Ginny Weasley, you are bait."

With that, Ginny fell backwards and felt her head hit the chamber floor with a sickening _crack_. She figured she was dying; she couldn't hear, couldn't feel, couldn't open her eyes, but two faces loomed over her. Two sets of emerald eyes, two heads of black hair, two smiling mouths. But one face was evil and the other was not. It was then that Ginny understood.

"I hate you, Tom Riddle," she whispered before everything went dark.


	5. The Silver Linings

**Title: **The Silver Linings  
**Rating: **K  
**Word count this chapter: **1,286 (not including A/Ns)  
**Summary this chapter: **Tonks and Remus both want different things in their life. They're not sure how to tell each other.  
**Team: **Chudley Cannons  
**Position: **Beater 2  
**Pairing: **Tonks x Remus (romantic pairing)  
**Optional Prompts Used: **_- countryside - dialogue: 'what are you smiling about?' - clouds -._

This is a slight AU, in whichTonks and Remus are a couple from high school, but I suppose it could be canon...please review if you've read it!

Lately, Remus has been having second thoughts.

It's almost impossible to imagine having second thoughts about someone like Tonks, but still, they're there and he can't deny them anymore.

Mostly, he thinks that life is going to be hard. It's easy to imagine being around Tonks forever. But it's hard to imagine actually setting up a life with her.

Neither of them knows what they want. Remus likes the idea of teaching, but he's young and unsure and Tonks… well, she has some vision of them living on a cute, rustic farmhouse in the country. Remus can't imagine being a farmer for a second. Still, he cares a lot about Tonks, so they're going to look at a country home today.

Hopefully Tonks will hate the place more than anything.

* * *

Nymphadora Tonks can't seem to get Harris Williamson out of her mind.

Ever since they shared a kiss alone, briefly, where no one was at risk of seeing, her thoughts have kept on going back to him.

How can she ever justify doing that? And how is it possible to love two people at once?

It was at a time when she and Remus were fighting. Arguing about something stupid that she can hardly even remember now. It was at a time when Harris Williamson was there to hold her hand, be her best friend, give her advice. Sometimes it was advice on how to apologise to Remus. Other times it was advice on how to best poison his soup.

Needless to say, Tonks felt closer to Harris in those days than she ever had before. She couldn't deny how attached she had been.

It wasn't even him who kissed her.

He wouldn't kiss her back, insisting that if she wanted a kiss from him she would have to end things properly with Remus.

She wants nothing more to get on with her life and relationship with Remus Lupin, but she can't forgive herself for that reckless moment.

Tonks' hair has been a shade of mousy brown ever since.

* * *

"I really hope you'll like this house," she says quietly, almost timidly, as they walk down a deserted road, having just apparated.

Remus smiles genuinely in return. "I hope so too."

Tonks is quiet for a minute. "I think that if you like the house, and I like the house, we should buy it. Start our life together. Move into the future."

He hesitates. That's not exactly what he wants her to say. "I'm not sure…it's so far away from the university. Maybe we should wait until we know what we want to do in our lives."

Tonks has been sensing Remus' closed-off attitude for a while now, but she'd hoped desperately that he would want to buy a home. The sooner she moves on from Harris, the better. "We could always apparate to the university," she says quickly. "And I know you want to be a teacher, you've mentioned it before. I just need to decide on my path. I've been thinking about becoming an Auror!"

"That's nice." The smile doesn't reach Remus's eyes this time. "But I still don't think we need to hurry into anything. We're only eighteen. Seventh year just ended, we're young, we have time to sort out these things."

_We have time for me to change my mind_, Tonks wants to say, but mentally slaps herself for even allowing that thought to cross her mind.

"I suppose."

They come up to the house, where people are walking in and out. A family here, friends there, a few couples like Tonks and Remus.

"It's cute," she smiles, looking up at him.

"I guess so." he takes her hand and they walk inside the doors.

"Welcome, friends!" a shrill voice calls suddenly. Tonks and Remus turn around to see an overly-excited looking realtor. Her hair is held back tightly in a bun and her suit is sharp. But her wildly grinning face takes away from the professional air of her outfit. "I'm so glad young people like you have come to invest in this quaint countryside home. We have _many _potential buyers here today, but I'd be happy to give you two a personal house tour. My treat. Of course, there are one or two other groups who I must give a house tour to as well, so if you don't mind their presence…"

"Of course we don't," Tonks smiles hopefully. "Right, Remus?"

"Right," he murmurs, following Tonks and the real estate agent.

* * *

"And this," the real estate agent, who has revealed her name to be Jessica, gestures grandly, "is the master bedroom." Remus sighs internally. He's tired of looking around the 'fashionably rustic', probably very expensive house. He wants to go home. But he doesn't want to tell Tonks that. She looks too happy to be here.

Why is everything going wrong?

"This whole place looks so nice," Tonks says, looking at him like she wants him to agree.

"What – oh. Yeah. I guess it does," he replies absently.

_You like the place, Remus, _he tells himself firmly. _You want to make your life here with Tonks. Like she does with you. _

Tonks and Remus trudge slowly back down the dirt path, away from the charming farm home in the quaint English countryside.

* * *

"What are you smiling about?" Tonks asks finally, looking over at Remus's face.

"It was a nice day. I'm glad to be getting back home, that's all."

"Did you like the place?" she asks. "Really, did you? I couldn't tell today."

He stops slowly. "I feel like I'd be lying to you if I said I honestly wanted to live there." The second the words escape his mouth, Tonks's smile drops and Remus feels a heavy sense of guilt. It's like that was the only home she could imagine living in. He feels an urge to take everything back.

"It's not really working, is it?" Tonks asks. "You're unhappy. I'm unh - well – we're – we're not really on the same page. Are we?" she says the words with a sense of finality.

There's a pained expression on Remus's face. And he really does feel pain, because he feels that he's hurting Tonks. He cares about her. "I just think that we're very young, Tonks, and we might want different things from life right now. Perhaps we should sort our lives out. On our own, you know, and see how we do in a few months."

Her hair goes from mousy brown to almost black. _Maybe she knows about you and Harris,_ she thinks desperately. _He must. Why else would he be saying this? You've failed him. _

"I don't think, if we back out now, that we'll be meeting up again in a few months."

"Nymphadora-"

"Please don't call me Nymphadora," Tonks winces. "It's OK, Remus. We're not going to try and hide how we feel, remember? You promised me that when we first went to Madam Pudifoot's and both hated it but didn't want to tell each other."

"I still care about you a lot, Tonks. I'm here for you. You know, if you ever need me." When Remus looks over at her, Tonks finds she can't meet his eyes. A surge of guilt washes over her. She couldn't keep their relationship together. She drove him away.

_But it was strangely easy._

Remus Lupin walks into the trees and disappears, and Nymphadora Tonks watches. She looks up at the storm brewing overhead, at the dark thunderclouds.

Her thoughts drift to Harris Williamson, who said that he wouldn't give her a kiss until she broke things off with Remus. She smiles just a little. It's a bittersweet, sad smile, but a smile nonetheless.

Maybe every cloud has a silver lining.

* * *

Not my best work.


	6. Balloons (Round 9)

**Title: **Balloons  
**Rating: **Kplus/T**  
Word count this chapter: **3000 (not including A/Ns)**  
Summary this chapter: **AU challenge; What if one of the NextGen kids was born with a mental disorder?**  
Team: **Chudley Cannons**  
Position: **Beater 2**  
Optional prompts used: -**dialogue: 'she's too quiet these days' - -bleeding heavily- -undelivered letter**-**

* * *

It was obvious, even from when she was very little, that Lucy Weasley wasn't quite the same as everyone else.

"Daddy, Arnold told me that I should to eat a second cupcake," the redhead toddler would say when she finished desert. Mummy would laugh and Molly would frown.

Daddy would smile affectionately, patting his daughter on the head. "Nice try, Lucy. I don't think Arnold knows what's best for you."

Lucy would put her hands tight against her ears like she was blocking out noise, and shake her head desperately. "Daddy, I really need another cupcake! Arnold wants me to have one! Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease!"

"You've had enough for the night, Lucy," he would say firmly, and mummy would put the lid over the cupcake box, then put it up on the highest shelf so that Lucy couldn't reach it, no matter how hard she tried.

Later, when Lucy and Molly were both tucked in, Audrey and Percy would laugh uneasily about Lucy's imaginary friend Arnold. "She really is attached to that Arnold character," Audrey said over her tea.

Percy shook his head. "I don't know. All little children have imaginary friends, I know that. But it's like she really thinks Arnold is real. I know I didn't feel like that when I was her age."

"You don't remember when you were three," Audrey said, shoving him gently.

Percy's frown didn't go away. "You said you grandfather was schizophrenic, right?" he asked, feigning innocent curiosity.

"Yes, Perce, and the doctors know that, and I told you; they think she'll be fine."

"Right," he said, and went back to his tea. It doesn't matter, he told himself. All toddlers have imaginary friends.

* * *

"_Daaaaaaaad!_" Molly Weasley shrieked. "_Muuuuuuum!_ Lucy's doing something with Priscilla! _Muuuuuuuuum!_"

Molly ran up to her mother, tugging at her sleeve. "Mum, mum, mum, Lucy's got Priscilla in the kitchen and she's trying to put her in the water in the sink and what's she doing? Does Priscilla need a bath?"

"No," Audrey Weasley frowned, sighing. "Priscilla doesn't need a bath." She walked into the kitchen with a purpose, and did indeed find Lucy holding a hissing cat over the sink, full of water. Lucy stood on a little stool, but was still too short to let her reach over the counter's edge.

"Lucy, what are you doing?" Asked mum with impatience. "You know we don't give baths to Priscilla."

Promptly dropping the cat, Lucy stared at her mother in disbelief. "But…but May told me I had to."

Superior eleven-year-old Molly rolled her eyes. "I told you, mum, Lucy's bonkers."

Audrey crouched down so she could be eye-level with her daughter. "Why does May want you to give Priscilla a bath? Is May an animal doctor?" Audrey had grown familiar with Lucy's imaginary friends, May and Arnold. She didn't particularly like either of them, even though such feelings were irrational, since May and Arnold didn't actually exist. Arnold's schemes were fairly innocent; he tried to get Lucy out of her chores, or get her more desert, and so on. May seemed to have a more malicious intent. She made Lucy almost irrational. But since Lucy idolised both of her imaginary friends, a word against them wouldn't end well.

"No May's not an animal doctor," Lucy shook her head. "But she said that last night Priscilla bit me when I was asleep, so I should put her in water, since cats don't like water and Priscilla was a bad cat." She said the words so matter-of-factly that Audrey wanted to believe her.

"Listen," she said firmly to her daughter. "Don't do what May tells you to do. Sometimes May says things that are mean. Priscilla didn't bite you last night. OK?"

With big eyes, little Lucy Weasley shook her head and giggled. "Mummy, it's fine! May is my best friend. She wouldn't lie to me."

And with that, Lucy ambled off, probably to go take a cookie, which she would then justify by saying something like, 'Arnold wanted me to!'

* * *

Lucy was nine now. Arnold and May hadn't gone anywhere; in fact, their presence seemed even stronger. Everything Lucy did was influenced by them. "They're actually people," she said reasonably to her dad. "They just don't have a body and clothes like you and me. They have voices, though. I can hear their voices all the time, like now, they're arguing."

"Oh," he said. "That's nice."

Later on, when they had seen a doctor at St Mungo's – on several occasions, in fact, with Lucy reluctant to go every time – it became clear that she did have schizophrenia, just as Percy had wondered about ages ago. "Muggle medicine can help treat it, but it may affect her magic," Doctor Perry had told them.

Audrey decided firmly not to take the chance, not for now. "They've been harmless," she reasoned. "The voices, I mean. If she can lead a mostly normal life – without Muggle medicine to tamper with her magic – isn't that preferable?"

"I can't say I disagree," admitted the doctor. "A Muggle disorder like schizophrenia isn't one we can easily treat with magic."

* * *

On September the first, Lucy Weasley was bouncing up and down. She had grown into a talker, chatting animatedly to mum, dad, and Molly. "Aren't you excited to be going back to Hogwarts?" she said eagerly to Molly, lugging along the trunk that was bigger than her entire body.

"I suppose," Molly said, giggling. "But you do know it's the same thing year after year, don't you?"

Lucy stuck out her lower lip. "So? May and Arnold said it's still fun. _Year after year_," she snapped.

"May and Arnold have never been to Hogwarts," Molly replied kindly, having grown accustomed to treating Lucy's friends like they were real.

"Whatever," Lucy pouted, heading towards a train compartment and almost forgetting to say goodbye to her mum and dad.

"Don't forget," reminded Audrey, "If May and Arnold start acting strange, or mean, write home immediately. You understand?"

"I know, I know," responded the eleven-year-old, carefree.

Percy and Audrey watched the train roll away with worried eyes.

* * *

Lucy had an entire compartment to herself. It didn't occur to her that this was lonely; she could talk to May and Arnold as much as she liked. It hadn't taken her long to realise that other people didn't see or hear her friends. They thought her talking to them was weird.

"You're going to be top of your class at Hogwarts," said May, sounding determined.

"I hope so," Lucy responded happily, out loud. "But it doesn't matter, does it?'

"Of course it does," May hissed. "I'll be disappointed in you if you aren't."

Just as Lucy became nervous, Arnold cut in. "The food there is prime!" he exclaimed. "You'll really like it."

"_You_ always make me feel better, Arnold," she said gratefully, a passive-aggressive jab at May.

Suddenly, a hand tapped on the window. Lucy jumped, whipping her head around. A hopeful-looking, unfamiliar boy stood in front of her. She cautiously stood up and slid the door open. "…Hi?"

"Don't trust him," May muttered darkly.

"You don't even know him!" she whispered, brow creased.

The boy looked confused. "Uh, hi. Does your friend have an invisibility cloak?"

"Er. Nope," Lucy beamed, coming right out. "She's in my head-" she tapped her skull – "That's why you can't hear her."

"O-oh," the boy said. "Well, cool. What's her name?"

No one had had such a keen interest in May before. Lucy smiled. "May," she said shyly. "She doesn't like you too much yet."

The boy looked a little hurt. "She doesn't even know my name."

"I guess you should tell her, then," suggested Lucy.

"It's, uh, Liam. Liam Finnigan," he said. "Hi…hi, May? I feel weird talking to May. You know, when she doesn't exist."

Lucy stepped back. "You don't know what you're talking about! She does exist!" her voice was fierce and shrill.

"I'm sorry," Liam said quickly, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean – well – can I sit here? The whole train is full."

"Course," Lucy said, flopping onto the bench. I don't care what May thinks of you. You seem alright to me."

Liam gave that hopeful little smile again.

* * *

The sorting was one of the things all of Lucy's cousins had told her about. Her nervousness mounted as the sorting hat made its calls; Liam had already been sorted into Gryffindor and was sitting with his big sister, Caitir. He grinned encouragingly at her. A few Weasleys cheered when her name was called.

When Lucy put the sorting hat on, she was in for a shock. "Hello," the hat said. That was no surprise. "You're another Weasley."

"You're not saying hello to us?" Arnold asked indignantly.

"I think I was addressing all of you," the hat said, sounding irritated.

Lucy jumped. "You can hear each other?"

"I'm inside your head, aren't I?" said the hat.

"I suppose," Lucy murmured.

"I don't like you," May said.

"You don't like anyone," replied the youngest Weasley.

"Hear, hear!" Arnold replied, snickering.

"Well, aside from those two, you're a pretty classic Weasley," the hat replied. "I've been sorting you lot for years. You're a Gryffindor, that's for sure."

"Thank you! Thankyouthankyouthankyou!" Lucy replied, giggling with joy. She ripped the sorting hat off her head and san to the Gryffindor table, plopping herself down next to Liam and waving to Molly, who sat at the Hufflepuff table.

With her cousins - and her new friend - to greet her, had her mind taken off May and Arnold. Eating with them made her feel nice, like she belonged.

* * *

Over the years, Lucy and Liam grew closer. May in particular seemed to resent their relationship. She was losing her control over Lucy; once, she had told the Weasley girl to hit Liam, and Lucy had said no. Arnold remained quiet. It was as if he didn't want to get in the way. And it was as if May wanted complete control.

Ironic, because May was nothing more than a figment of Lucy's imagination.

Lucy's days, though, eventually became a struggle to fight May off. They became a struggle to stop the voice in her head from taking over. She didn't have time for talking. She didn't have time for homework. She couldn't remember the feeling of carefree that had existed when she was little, when May was mostly harmless.

"I'm worried about her," Liam said to Caitir, now a seventeen year-old. "Lucy. She's too quiet these days."

"Lucy's troubled," Caitir replied quietly. "But she just has to work out everything that's inside of her. I would give her space, Liam. She knows you care about her. Rose knows it. Albus knows it. Scorpius knows it. Even Headmistress McGonagall knows it, and she's ancient!"

"…well…"

"I don't know Lucy that well. But I don't think you need to stress. You just have to tell us if she starts saying anything funny. Anything that hints she might… you know… be reaching the breaking point."

"Thanks," Liam muttered. He didn't feel much better.

* * *

It was a Saturday. A Saturday evening, to be specific, and the sky was clear. The stars were so many at Hogwarts; they must have very far away from any cities. Lucy spent most weekend nights staring at the stars .They made her feel insignificant. Like, in the whole scope of the universe and its infinite masses of space and time, her lifespan was an invisible speck. It made her issues – her issues with May, who scared Lucy more than she would like to admit – seem like they didn't really matter. Maybe they didn't. Maybe she didn't matter.

Being able to understand her insignificance felt nice. It made her feel like something out there was real. It was something she can trust.

Liam knew he would find her out there that night, sitting in front of the lake, eyes glazed over. "Are you OK?" he asked cautiously, sitting down.

She stared at her friend. Liam, who she'd come to trust after all these years. He was maybe the only person out there who wouldn't judge her, no matter what she said.

"Why do you ask?"

"You seem quiet. You…you know. You usually talk a lot. I don't like to see you like this."

"Do you ever think metaphorically, Liam?" Lucy inquired, seemingly abandoning his question.

"Not much." he had come to expect her sudden subject changes and short attention span.

"Well, I do. Sometimes I think we're all like balloons, and some of us are bigger and fatter or skinnier and shorter or lankier or whatever than others. But we all have the same pattern. Stripes or something. And some of our shades are different than others. But basically, all the same. And we're all floating around. But then there's me, off to the corner, and I'm grey, and I'm so easy to pick out. And people are a little afraid to come close to me. You're not. But most people are. My balloon is just…there."

Liam didn't know what to say to her, so he wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and pulled her close to him.

"You're a good listener," she informed him.

"Thanks," Liam replied, appreciating the comment.

"I've got a devil inside my head, Liam," Lucy murmured, and drifted off to sleep.

After a few minutes of staring at the stars and contemplating her, Liam picked her up and carried her back to the castle. The fifteen-year-old was very light, considering the burdens she carried.

* * *

Things are starting to unravel. They always were, but now they're getting worse; now Lucy's coming apart at the seams. Her grey balloon is deflating. May doesn't just order her around anymore. May _is _her. May, just when she was losing her grip, made a comeback. Lucy won't disobey the voice in her head anymore.

It's a good dinner. A hearty one that requires sharp steak knives and piles and piles of dishes. Lucy isn't in the mood to eat. She takes mashed potatoes. "No," May cuts in. "Take the salad." Lucy reaches for the salad. "Actually," May decides, "Eat some steak."

She can't win. Arnold has been silent for a long time, like he doesn't care about her, or like he's the innocent voice that came with her childhood and is gone now.

At the end of supper May orders, "Take the knife."

Of course, Lucy does.

* * *

Liam's pacing the Gryffindor common room that night. It's just getting dark at eight - spring is starting to melt into summer, and there's a buzz of excitement in the air. He should be excited, and nervous for his next few O. , but Lucy is the only thing on his mind. She went to bed too early to be normal. He knows she's not the same as she was when they met. He knows he should be worried.

Carefully – and getting a few looks from the people in the common room – Liam climbs along the banister so that he doesn't trigger the magical staircase.

The girl's dormitory is deserted. Liam walks over to Lucy's bedroom, feeling his heart in his throat. Has she done something? Caitir's words from years ago echo through his mind. _"Tell us if she starts saying anything funny. Anything that hints she might… you know… be reaching the breaking point."_

Has Lucy reached her breaking point?

Liam walks around to the other side of her bed, and all the blood drains from his face; he feels faint. Sitting on the table is the knife from the very dinner they had that night, and dripping from it is blood. Not much of it, but it's still blood, and the sight of it alone makes him – not usually a squeamish person – feel sick. "Lucy," he mutters.

He can see it in his mind's eye. Her sitting on her bed, clutching the knife and bleeding heavily, wondering why life had chosen to pick on her. Liam bolts to the wide open window, seized by a desperate sort of panic, half-expecting to see her lying limply on the roof thirty feet below Gryffindor Tower. She's not there, but his worry doesn't cease.

"Where are you?" he asks, wanting to scream. "What are you doing?"

He sits down on the bed that smells so much like Lucy.

"Think, think." It helps him to talk out loud.

Her broom. "Her broom!" It's not there. Liam wrenches open her wardrobe and tears through it, noting the absence of most of her clothes. He breathes. Maybe she's somewhere. The window is opened wide. Easily wide enough for her to fly out of.

Breathing sighs of relief, Liam lies on her bed and hears a _crunch_ that sounds like paper. Warily, he pulls off Lucy's duvet and comes upon a brown package; he opens it hastily.

Of all things, letters spill out. Did Lucy mean to take those with her? Liam glances at them. Many of them are yellowed and old, dated from four or more years ago. And all of them are addressed to him.

Energized by this sudden connection to Lucy, Liam pores over the letters.

The most recent one is dated today. It only contains a few words.

_I'm alive. But you, of all people, should understand that I have to get away from it all. _

She has to be out there. "Just wait, Lucy," he says to himself. "I'll find you you'll see."

She can't have gone far. The ink is still wet.


End file.
